A Promise Never Spoken
by Jim 'The Turtle Racer' Nelson
Summary: A rewrite of the first Novel of The Lying Game series in the 3rd person. Minor plot points have changed but Sutton is still dead. I wanted to make Emma stronger and more of a independent heroine than original, she is a mixture of Katniss and herself but hopefully still holds the awesomeness of the Books. Hints of Femslash Emma/ Charlotte pairing.
1. Chapter 1

Emma Paxon wakes in her small bedroom, a smile plastered across her heart shaped face, brushing the stray stands of her brunette hair out of her mouth. The smile brightens the bleakness of her bedroom; the discoloured wallpaper hangs loosely off the cracked walls, the carpet is long gone leaving the stained floorboards exposed and broken. The window only allowing a slither of light to enter Emma's room; bars across the small window cascade a shadow over Emma. Even the bleakness of this room cannot deter Emma's happiness today. This is a very special day, Emma bounces out of her bed and into the bathroom. She passes a photo on the top of the dresser; it shows a young woman in her mid-thirties her blonde hair blowing wildly in the wind, holding tentatively a young baby, Emma.

Emma locks the bathroom door, which consisted of jamming a broken piece of wood under the door. Jumping into the shower Emma's smile broadened as she fanaticises about her day ahead. She is finally going to meet her twin. Even thinking about it, makes her giggle, a twin, unbelievable. She was contacted only a couple weeks ago, by her twin sister, Sutton Mercer. The hot streaming water of the shower envelops Emma's whole body, as she remembers the first e-mail she received for Sutton.

"Hi, my name is Sutton Mercer. I live in Tucson, Arizona. This might seem a little strange, but I think were related. Crazy I know, but I have searched and searched and I think I have finally found you. My sister. I hope we can get to know each other. Please contact me, Love Sutton."

The shock at reading the E-mail was nothing compared to the disbelief and anger she felt as she thought it was a prank by her younger foster brother, Rex. She was busy plotting her revenge, despite living in multiple foster homes over her childhoods and enduring countless pranks, anything about the chance of family always struck a deep cord with her. She decided to take a look at the attachment on the E-mail just to see how far Rex had gone on this elaborate prank. But the sight that greeted her, was far past her anything she could have imagined. The attachment was a photograph, of Emma. Well not Emma, Sutton her twin sister. The resemblance was amazing she was identical. The only difference was a Sutton didn't have a small scar on her chin. Emma got that scar when she was 5 on the swing set in the park, 2 months before her mother left. In the photo Sutton was holding a white sheet of paper 'I think were twins' written tidily in pink felt tip. The one thing Emma will remember from that photo is the expression on Sutton's face. Her lips parted into a small smile, her eyes bright and beautiful, only partially hiding her desperate plea for acceptance. From that moment Emma knew the photo was real, that Sutton Mercer was real, and she would make sure she would get to know her twin sister.

Emma's daydream is abruptly interrupted by the bathroom door being forcefully opened. Her foster brother walks into the bathroom and sits down on the toilet. "Get out Rex, you pig!" Emma covers her delicate body with a towel quickly as she steps out of the shower. "You first" Rex stares greedily at half naked Emma. She quickly runs out of the bathroom and back to the relative safety of her room.

Emma lies back onto the bed. Her smile from earlier quickly comes back with vigour. Nothing, even the advances from her foster brother, can ruin this day for her. Today is the day she will finally meet her twin sister.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma throws a bundle of her clothes into a small green rucksack on her bed, two of the side pockets are missing, and only the torn seams remain. Emma found the bag jammed in the door of her local bar when she was 8 years old. She remembers Mrs Solis a nice caring woman, one of the best foster mothers Emma has ever had; how she always cut the crusts of her sandwiches and tidied her room. Her time with Mrs Solis was an enjoyable time in her turbulent childhood, but it was cut short when she started dating a construction worker. A beast of a man, an angry alcoholic with a short temper; this lead to Emma climbing up the drain pipe of the small semi-detached house every time she came home from school to avoid his temper. In a strange way she is thankful for her time spent with Mrs Solis, it taught her how to sneak into houses, at 8 years old she didn't know the importance of that skill, but with another 10 years in foster care she soon did.

Emma continues to place her clothes into the bag, taking an inspective look around the room insuring she hasn't left anything important. She picks up the small pile of photos lying next to bag. She takes the photo of her mother Becky from the photo frame placing it on the small pile; partially hiding a picture of Emma and another redheaded girl smiling greedily at each other. She flips the photos to reveal the photo of Sutton holding the sign; sliding the photos down the back of the rucksack, ensuring they are protected and safe.

Looking down at the rucksack the seams straining to hold the bulging contents; Emma knows that she has packed too much, but she can't stay in this house another day. With only 2 weeks until her 18th birthday she should really wait, but unwelcoming affections of her horrible foster brother, mixed with spitefulness her foster mother, she must leave as soon as possible. It may be too much to ask of her newly found twin sister to take her in, but she should have no objection of her living close to her. If things go well they can do things together, nothing eccentric, go shopping, share a meal, or going to the salon, simple sisterly things. Emma has never been to a salon before, the closest was an encounter when she was living in Henderson with a couple, Arsola and Steve, two hippies who grew their own food but didn't know how to cook it. Leading Emma to develop another skill at an early age; whipping up Zucchini bread, veggie gratins or Emma's favourite Stir fries. At one of their group 'peace rallies' they egged a salon for its inhuman use of products that were tested on animals. Emma has few memories of the rally but the image of the countless bottles of shampoos, conditioners and lotions blew her young mind and has stayed with her ever since. She only stayed with Steve and Arsola for a few months, as they house got raided by police and were charged with possession of drugs.

She was quickly placed in another home and was bounced around countless times. Picking up skills and traits with each new place she visited; developing her reflexes at Mrs Smythe's to survive her object-throwing mood swings, Or her amateur lock picking as she was consistently locked out of the Ford household as 'Foster kids are not to be trusted with keys'.

Emma opens the window and drops her rucksack onto the small bush outside, ensuring it fell out of sight of any curious eyes, Emma heads down stairs.

Sitting down to enjoy her breakfast Emma pours a glass of orange juice. Rex is sitting opposite her his eyes greedily socking in her body. She tries to ignore his gaze but it burns like hot coal across her body. Shifting her arms across her chest and crossing her legs to try and deter his wandering eyes. Clarice, her foster mother is humming pleasantly behind her at the cooker. It was always a chore having meals with Rex and Clarice, she tried to avoid it most days; getting up earlier or sneaking out but today was different. Due to Emma's not so sneaky packing, Clarice has set a place for her at the table.

"I've picked up the early shift at the shop, Terry is really busy today." Emma lied; she needed to get out of the house soon, her bus to Tuston leaves in half an hour. She does work in the local farmers market but it's closed for two weeks as Terry's on holiday, thank god for lacks parenting Emma thought.

"Ok Emma, just get some food down you first." Clarice swings round and places two over-cooked Pancakes on her plate. She falsely assumes that having a family meal, makes them a family. Emma hates pancakes ever since she was little, her mother, she uses that term loosely, cooked pancakes during her dark days. Becky was a caring mother but deeply troubled. One day she would spend the day crying in bed and the next, she would take little Emma shopping and buy two of everything. If she had pancakes on the morning it would mean a day alone hearing the quite sobs of her broken mother.

Emma picks the chocolate chips of top of the pancakes and tries to avoid the gaze of Rex. Clarice continues to potter behind her continuing to hum the tune.

"So are you over girls yet?" Rex's words cut through Emma like a knife. Emma's sexuality was always a sore spot, more so since Alex. She wanted to lunge over the table scratch his beady little eyes out of his thick skull; fortunately she managers to control herself.

"If you're any example of men, I may never go back." Emma spits back, Emma is not known for her wit, she normally shouts it in the safety of her head; or writes in down in her notebook. During her time in foster care she had learned to bit her tongue on many occasions, to vent her frustrations she created lists 'Things I would have said' and 'Thing I would have done' But today was different she was not Emma Paxon the lonely foster kid; she was Emma Paxon the twin sister of Sutton Mercer. This minor change does not affect anything but to Emma it changed everything. Emma tries her best to mimic the disgusting smile Rex pulls when he stares at her. Throwing a handful of chocolate chips into her mouth Emma stands up and heads to the door to leave. Before she can reach the door Clarice gives a loud shriek.

"I've been robbed, someone have taken $250. EMMA!" Clarice storms towards her anger rife in her hazel eyes. Why always blame the foster kid Emma thought.


End file.
